


The Ballad Of Harry & Louis

by cherrybombs



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Artist Louis, Artist Zayn, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Lottie is in there somewhere too, M/M, Occansional bouts of grand theft auto, Photographer Harry, Recreational Drug Use, Vandalism, street art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 23:59:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrybombs/pseuds/cherrybombs
Summary: "This feels illegal. Like very illegal.""Harry, darling, live a little, why don't you?"Harry takes photos for a living, and Louis shows him just how great life can be.





	1. A hop, skip, and a jump to the land of flowers (and mischief?)

**Author's Note:**

> The part where adventure ensues.

Harry didn't mean to find Louis. Honestly. He doesn't just go traipsing about meadows in the middle of the day in hopes of finding fallen angels lying amongst the foliage. Because, well, he doesn't traipse. But alas, there he was in the land of bird watchers and self-proclaimed greenery connoisseurs with a lanyard that read CANON pinching at his neck as he brought the camera up to his brow.

Shady Grove Arboretum isn't known to harbor angels, more like the occasional family of deer (maybe a stray bunny or two), and a colony of old folk toting their trusty dusty binoculars. But today, in the late September sun, he finds a boy laying atop a blanket of daisies.

He naturally snaps a photo of this momentous occasion. 

The boy's eyes take momentary shelter beneath his coif of fluffy brown hair before snapping open at the shutter of Harry's camera. Goddammit. 

His eyes, a heavenly shade of blue that the all the skies, and oceans in the whole bloody land, Harry thinks, couldn't compare to and they kind of made the earth shift beneath his feet. 

Harry realizes then that the boy is indeed an actual person, and not a mirage or angel—that bit is still in question—when he speaks. 

"Did you just take a picture of me?" He pulls himself up on bare elbows, and tilts his head in a way that's so uttering endearing Harry has to will himself not to coo audibly. 

And, oh. Well. He had done that, hadn't he? 

"I did." He nods, waving the camera weakly. "I'm actually a photographer, small stuff though. The occasional wedding—"

"Isn't that against the law or something?" The boy interrupts, messy hair slipping in his eyes once again. "Taking pictures of me without my permission, that's punishable by incarceration. Death even, I believe."

"I suppose that depends on how bad the picture is." 

The boy cracks a smile at that, as he climbs to his feet. He plucks a daisy that looks like it's just recently bloomed up from ground, promptly tucking it behind his ear. He holds out a surprisingly small hand. 

"Let's see it then." 

Harry slips the lanyard from around his neck, hesitantly handing the camera over to the stranger. He glances at Harry thoughtfully, before drawing his eyes down to the picture.

He brightens a bit, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a small smile that falls prettily along his lips. Harry can see him biting the inside of his cheek to try to hide it, but it's still there as clear as day. 

"It's not shit." The boy concedes firmly, handing the camera back with a shrug. "So maybe just probation then."

Harry sticks out a hand when the camera is back in its rightful place around his neck. "I'm Harry, guy who takes photos. Occasionally of boys in arboretums."

"Louis." The boy shakes his hand. "Guy who occasionally lays in arboretums for meditative purposes, semantics really. I've gotta get going though."

Harry definitely doesn't pout, nope. No pouting, no traipsing. "So soon?"

Louis shrugs again. "Afraid so, curly. I've got an adolescent zombie to see about."

"A what?"

Louis shakes his head, fluff falling over crystal blue eyes again. "It's a long story."

He plucks up a handful of flowers, dirt still clinging to them as he stuffs them in his back pocket. He's a odd one, Harry decides. That's okay though, he could deal with odd. 

"You know what, Curly, I've got an idea. You up for a ride along of sorts?" 

Harry isn't quite sure what the "of sorts" implies and if he's just going off the particularly mischievous smirk playing at Louis' brow alone, one could only conclude it can't be good. But what the hell, right? 

It's not like he had much to do. Sure, he's got that lunch date with Niall, but the guy will eat with or without him present. 

"Sure." He nods out on a sigh of apprehension. Niall would be alright. "Why not?" 

"Woo!" Louis cheers with a smile so bright and wide, his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Harry's heart melts just a little. "Right, steady on, Curly. We've got quite the journey to go on. In the meantime, tell me about Harry..."

"Styles." Harry says quickly. 

"Styles, really?" He quirks a brow, and Harry nods. "Well then, Harry Styles, amateur Annie Liebowitz. Tell me of the trials and tribulations that a starving artist like yourself faces on a daily basis." 

Yeah, he is definitely an odd one. And Harry kinda likes him. 

Journey was definitely the right word for the trek they take. Weaving their way through the city streets, and Harry talks just about the whole way. He tells Louis of the first time he took a pretty decent picture. 

It was back when he was on the cusp of turning ten years old. His then tiny nimble fingers dug around his mother's attic until he came across a Polaroid camera covered in a thin layer of dust. 

When he climbed back down the rickety ladder, he was met with a deep etched frown on his mother's tired brow. Instead of pleading his case for being in the attic he was previously banded from (it's not because he kicked a hole through the floor up there or anything) he snapped a picture of her which only fueled Anne's fiery. Little Harry was a fearless lad.

The same picture sits framed on the mantel over the fireplace back at his family home. It had grown to become one of his favorite. In the top five for sure. 

He's going on about the time Niall cracked one of his really expensive lenses when Louis makes a beeline for an alleyway. It's a sketchy sight, Louis, small and shamelessly shapely, strolling down an alley strewn with trash from overflowing dumpsters. 

"Come on then, Curly." The boy says over his shoulder. "The fun has just begun." Harry decides that they could easily have two very different definitions of fun, but follows him nonetheless. 

"You aren't afraid of heights, are you?" Louis asks as they both stop, staring up at a fire escape. Louis brings a hand up to his face, blocking out the sun. 

"Not necessarily." Harry squints at the rusting ladder. "The fear is more of falling than the height itself." 

"Philosopher and photographer, huh? Well, best advice I can give you is to not look down, yeah? Let's go."

Harry's eyes threaten to pop right out of their sockets when Louis starts to actually climb the death trapped they've dubbed a ladder. 

"There's no way that's safe!" 

Louis doesn't speak until he reaches the little platform that leaves a spiraling staircase before him. "Sure it is!" He shouts down to Harry. "I've just done it, and i'm a-okay coolio beans, mate." 

"What does that even mean?" 

"It's a Parks and Recreation thing, dear. We'll watch it together sometime. Now c'mon. Haven't got all day, have we?" And with that he's going up the stairs.

Did Louis really expect him to climb that thing? He must as he's left him there to do just that. He'll do it. Sure, he may wee a bit on the way up, but he'll do it. 

He swallows the fear of impending death down a dry throat, and makes the climb. By the time he's up and off the platform, he's got black paint chips stuck to his palm from gripping the ladder so tightly. But that's okay, it'll stay between him and the ladder. 

When he's up the stairs, and questionably safe atop a roof, he's met with a bouncing Louis. Which is cute, and makes up for the climb of doom. 

"You've made it! I had faith in you all along." 

"Sure you did." Harry smiles through his words like he can't help it, because well he honestly can't. "What are we up here for then?" 

"Gotta finish the zombie, so it can eat Zayn's apple obviously." He says plainly.

Harry blinks at him. "What?" 

"C'mon." Louis drags the word with an eye roll, weaving his arm through Harry's as he guides him across the roof. 

Louis let's him go when they stop at all wall littered with street art. There's a forest of sorts, darkened with dreary skies, but it's only the background. The foreground is an apple, large and rotting. A different kind of rotting, more decaying than browning with an assortment of bugs crawling from inside of it. 

It's honestly amazing. 

"My mate started this." Louis says finally. "The forest and the apple. It was supposed to be a twisted take on Snow White, I guess. He left me with the responsibility and creative liberty to finish it off." 

"It's good." Harry manages. "Like really good." He lets his fingers roam the makings of a figure that looks to be reaching for the apple. "What's this then?"

"The zombie I mentioned. Or, well, it will be." Louis sighs, eying the work himself now. "I haven't had much inspiration for the piece since Z's become a proper artist and all. 'S why I was in the arboretum in the first place, praying to the gods of flowers and trees to help me finish the piece." 

"Have you got any inspiration now?" Harry asks, suddenly a bit breathless. More because of Louis, than his fear of heights.

"Let's see." He slides over to the corner of the wall, kicking at a couple of stray crates to reveal a rucksack. He ducks down, digging through it with determination. 

"Is that yours?" Harry asks, toying with his camera's lens cap. 

"Of course it is, Harold! I don't just go rummaging through strange bags." He tucks a couple of spray paint cans under his arms as he speaks. "What kind of lad do you take me for?"

Harry decides it's best not to answer. "Do you mind if I document this?" He asks when Louis settles himself in front of the mural again. 

"Be my guest." Louis smiles as he shakes a can of paint. And that's how it goes, Louis works on his piece while indulging Harry in stories of he and his best mates' misadventures in vandalism. 

Harry snaps the occasional picture when Louis' too engrossed in the art that he breaks off in his sentences, and when he starts up again it's about something entirely different.

Harry likes it though, he likes it all. The way Louis' brows knit together and his tongue peeks from between his lips in concentration. The way he curses when he gets paint on his fingertips and then forgets about it and smudges the same paint over his cheeks. 

Louis' laughing at Harry's story about his sister, Gemma scaring him with the same zombie costume for five years straight when Louis' phone rings. Ballroom Blitz blasts from the small speaker before the boy tucks the phone between his neck and shoulder. 

"Z, what's up?" He asks, shaking another can. "Oi, right now? I'm finishing that piece though." Pause. "Well why can't you do it?" Pause. "Fine, I'll be there in a bit, yeah?"

"Duty calls?" Harry raises his brows.

Louis nods with an eye roll. "That it does, dear Harold. The lad's a great artist, I swear. Could be a proper model too, but he's a bit of a ditz. Can't even screw in a light bulb without me so it seems." He tucks the cans back in his bag, and covers it up with the crates.

Harry shoves his hands in his pocket. The sun had just begun to slink back behind the clouds slowly setting, painting the sky a deep vermillion, purplish rings streaked within it. "Until we meet again then."

"Hopefully that's soon." Louis smiles again, the city skyline and sunset as his backdrop, though he remains the most beautiful part of it all. "Maybe we could get dinner or something?" 

"Yeah." Harry beams. "I'd love that." Louis pulls out his phone again, pressing it into Harry's palm. 

"Put your number in there, I'll call you." He does as he's told before handing it back over. 

Louis stuffs it in his back pocket, only now remembering the knot of flowers back there. He plucks one of the daisies from the clump and tucks it behind the taller boy's ear. 

"Until we meet again, Harry Styles." He says just below a whisper, like he doesn't want the clouds to hear. And he's off. 

"Until we meet again, Louis." Harry repeats. His face kind of hurts from smiling so much, but he doesn't mind. "Hey, wait!" He's saying when Louis' already halfway down the ladder. "What's your last name?"

"Tomlinson!" Louis shouts back when he's dropped down from the death trap. He throws Harry another crinkly eyed smile before taking off down the street. 

Yeah, Louis Tomlinson is gonna be the death of him.


	2. Fancy living, here we come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part where dinner is...interesting, Niall is a growing boy, and forts are still fun, even in adulthood.

Harry sort of forgets about dinner.

Well, not about the dinner itself per se. He's had that mark on his calendar since Louis called a day after their little adventure, and demanded that he come over to Harry's for a five star meal. Or something close to it. And well, Harry can manage that.

But the thing is, it's the actual food that he fucking forgets.

It's when he's behind the camera, in the damp afternoon air, taking photos of an "on the rise" indie band called All There Is in a dilapidated playground that he suddenly remembers the only food he has in his flat is takeout from a week ago and half a bottle of merlot.

And well, that simply just won't do.

"Lads!" Harry squawks while he's rounding up the last of his equipment. "Quite the shame, but I do have to be going. We've got more than enough to work with here, I reckon. I'll get the prints developed, and let you lot have a pick from the batch, yeah? How's that sound?"

Instead of receiving concrete responses from semi-grown men—even that was a bit of a stretch—he got a chorus of vague grumbles of acknowledgement as the boys climb the jungle gyms, and jump off the swings. And, well, that's as good an okay as any.

"Well, I'm off then. Carry on, gentleman. Try not to break anything." He heads off with that and awkward salute, stumbling to his dirty Volvo with too much stuff settled in equally too long arms.

And at this point he should've stopped at a grocery store, because well, he needs to. Literally any store will do. Well not any, because the kid is pretty picky, and would definitely drive across town just to get his hands on anything that sports "organic" in the name even if that store is out of his way.

The thing is he doesn't stop at that grocery store. Or any grocery store at all for that matter. Typical. Instead, the boy stops at a shop just two, maybe three blocks away from his flat to buy candles. Candles. Too many candles at that, because, well he's a sucker for good mood lighting.

So he buys fucking candles. Tacky ones that came with plastic holders that are painted to look silver-esqe, and ones that smell like CRANBERRY COOKIE CRUMBLE according to the labels. He tucks at least four large candles in the crooks of too long arms.

He stands in an aisle of the tiny shop for as long as he can, debating the importance of having at least one pumpkin spice candle before realizing he was arguing with himself, and added the candle to his growing collection.

And even still when he's back behind the wheel, not even a block away from his flat he still doesn't get any food. But he does remember that Niall exists, and is probably stretched out on his couch in his flat eating the remainder of the takeout, and draining that half bottle of merlot.

And, well shit, that won't do either.

Harry slots his bulky Volvo between a tiny red sports car, and a hulking SUV. He manages to balance the collection of candles and camera equipment, all while tucking his phone between his neck and ear. A lad of many talents.

Niall answers his call on the second ring. "Haz, my boy! Listen, where's all your  
fo—"

"Niall, you've gotta get out of my flat." Harry interrupts.

"I'm wounded." Niall gripes, he can hear the boy rustling around his place. Probably sifting through his cupboards. "Honestly, mate you've got bigger problems on your hands. Like the lack of food in this place. And this Chinese is definitely off, man."

"It's been in there for at least a week, and don't you think I know about the food or lack thereof in my flat?" Harry rolls his eyes as he heads in his building. He tosses his building manager, a tall lean fellow, a nod as he heads for the staircase up to the third floor. "But you know where there is food? Your own flat, imagine that."

"No, no, no." The Irishmen mumbles around a mouthful of what Harry can only imagine is a glob of week old lo mein. "Can't do that. Ramona's been snooping around my place."

"She's your landlord. She's probably just checking on your pipes or something. Remember that time you had a leak?"

The boy is still climbing the stairs as he speaks. Someday when he's a famous photographer, he'll get a place with no stairs. Maybe a ranch house in Wyoming, with a farm. Yeah, he could definitely do a farm.

"Doubt it." The boy scoffs. "I'm  
ninety-seven percent sure she's in love with me or planning to murder me. Neither scenario works in my favor."

"I mean it could." Harry says thoughtfully, when he reaches his floor. "If she's in love with you, that cuts your rent in half."

"The only thing she'd cut in half is me."

"One can only dream." Harry heaves a sigh down at his welcome mat like talking to Niall, or just knowing him really, is a burden. "Will you open the door already?"

And he does. The door swings open after a minute of mindless fumbling, but then Harry's faced with a flushed blonde boy—who's barely blonde as the brown has nearly completely taken over—and brightest smile he'd probably seen ever.

"Get out, please." The taller of the two pushes inside with a huff.

"I will not. What's with you today? You've got no food, and you're snappy. It's not a good look on you, Haz."

"I've got a date."

"No, you haven't. There's no dates in here." The boy is rummaging through the kitchen again. "I thought we established that you have no food."

Harry does that burdened sigh again as he sits his array of candles down strategically so, because mood lighting is a must.

"I've got a date date. With that guy I was telling you about. The one from the arboretum."

"Oh right." Harry doesn't need to see Niall to know he's rolling his eyes. "The mystical daisy boy. As lovely as that sounds, it's hard to believe. I mean, Haz you've barely got friends."

Harry makes a low huffing noise that's a tasteful mix of offense and disbelief. "I'm thinking of having one less friend."

"You can't afford that, mate."

"Niall, please." Harry whines, joining him in the kitchen. "Louis will be here soon, and I haven't got any food and I kind of really like this guy and—"

"Whoa." Niall interrupts, let's be honest, he wasn't really listening to the ramble anyways. "Jack-fucking-pot!"

"What?" Harry pushes the boy aside to see just what he's marveling at, and well shit, it's a brand new box of Coco Pops. Unopened and all.

"Niall, drop the cereal." Harry says it slowly like the chocolatey cereal is a bomb of sorts that needs to be handled with the utmost care.

"You don't even like Coco Pops, plus I'm starved." Niall brings the box of cereal close to his chest, and the argument that was brewing couldn't seem more ridiculous.

"I wouldn't have brought it if I didn't like it—"

"You probably didn't even buy it! I probably brought it, and hid it in your cupboard for times like this!"

"If you bought it wouldn't have lasted this long!"

"You know," the blonde-brunette starts with a finger wag, "I resent that. I'm not always hungry—"

"Ladies, I don't think a box of cereal should be the straw that breaks the camel's back on friendship, yeah? Even if it is Coco Pops."

The boys turn to find Louis, small and whimsical, leaning lazily against the door frame with a lopsided grin.

"You know it's not very wise to leave your doors open. It gives hungry boys the opportunity to linger about, trolling for food and such." He balances his weight between dainty canvas sneaker clad feet. "Isn't there a fairytale like that? Kid goes into a candy house, ends up putting a witch in an oven or something?"

Harry smiles unconsciously. He can't help it. "You're thinking of Hansel and Gretel. Two kids. And the witch, she uh, she intends on putting them in the oven. But they're too smart for her."

"Yeah," Louis starts, he's smiling too. Harry's heart leaps a little. "Serves her right."

"Um," Niall quips out of the clear blue, breaking whatever thing Harry and Louis were momentarily trapped in. And, yeah, Niall. He's also a thing. Harry had absolutely forgotten he was even there. "Is this flirting? Is that what's happening right now? It's weird, if this is what you categorize as flirting."

"Right." Louis smiles as if it's a compliment, and, well maybe it is. "I'm Louis." He holds out a hand to the mostly-brunette.

"Yeah, mystical daisy boy," Niall shakes his hand vigorously, and Harry is eternally grateful that he didn't pull the boy in for a hug as he did with most complete strangers. "I've heard lots about you. Surprised you're actually real. I'm Niall, resident best mate."

"Mystical daisy boy, huh? That's me, I suppose. In the flesh." Louis says firmly. "I'm glad to disprove Harold here of any preconceived delusions."

Niall rolls his eyes dramatically. "Christ,   
it's like two Harry's. You two are made for each other." Harry let's out an incoherent squeak that sort of conveys, "Shut your fucking face" or something along those lines.

"So, Niall, that box you got there?" Louis began thoughtfully, eying the cereal box with raised brows. "I'm assuming that'll be my five star meal as per your previous colorful argument that box is the only food in this place, yeah? Mind sparing the box?"

Niall thought about this for at least a solid thirty anxiety riddled seconds—for Harry anyway, before shrugging and handing the box over to the boy who still stood in the door frame. "You're lucky you're pretty, and I have left over pizza at my place."

He gathers up his things much to Harry's surprise, and throws his jacket over his shoulders all while migrating to the door. "It helps that my mate likes you as well." He and Louis then swap respective places, and throws them a salute. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, boys." And he's off.

Harry snakes past Louis to peer out of the open doorway, then quickly slinks back in before his luck runs out and slams the door. He turns back to a wandering Louis who's decided to take a seat upon the counter.

"He has never left anywhere that easily in his life."

Louis throws him a nonchalant shrug, and taps his fingers against the cereal box. "I'm the infamous mystical daisy boy after all. I'm clearly magical."

Harry laughs, a real belly laugh. Louis laughs too. Is it too early to be in love? Because if so, Harry's fucked.

"So," The boy starts after tearing into the box of cereal. He stuffs a handful of Coco Pops in his mouth. "Have you got any milk?"

Harry doesn't have milk, so the two end up standing at a neighbor's—Darla—door across the hall and two doors down—and you bet your ass Louis has the cereal box in tow.

Did Harry mention he was just a tad bit in love?

"We can't do this. She isn't going to give us milk. I wouldn't give us milk."

"Hush, young Harold. Let me do all the talking. This is my thing. I'm the talker, a people person. I've got this in the box."

Harry squints. "You mean the bag?"

"Yeah, well I'm holding a box so." And before Harry can laugh, Louis knocks a rhythmic melody against the door. The silver of large apartment 10C plate is rusting, and actually shakes when Louis knocks. He has to knock a second time before there's rustling from inside, and a raspy "Alright, I'm coming!" follows.

A monstrosity of yarn and cat fluff appears at the door. The woman stood, not much taller than Louis leaned against the door frame, a crochet needle in her hand, and a cat on her heels. She didn't look any older than thirty five beneath sweater that was five times her size, and the round glasses perched on her nose.

"What?" She sighs at the boys.

"Well, hello. Name's Louis, it's a pleasure. Hope you're doing well." The smaller boy smiles. "I'm sorry to disturb you, it's just that my lovely host, Harold here—a right ditzy fellow—promised me a five star meal."

The woman, Darla, doesn't say a word. Completely indifferent, and Louis takes this as a nod to continue on.

"Unfortunately, my dear Darla, the only contents in that vile contraption he's conveniently deemed a refrigerator is week old Chinese and a winos' worst fear. His words, not mine."

Harry tries his damnedest to hold in snort, which he poorly disguises with a cough.

"However," Louis goes on without a hitch. "His pantry—albeit almost barren—did possess a lone brand spanking new box of Coco Pops. We're just wondering if you could spare a couple of hungry dolts a dash of milk? Will ya? Be a doll. A lamb, a dear. A—"

She interrupts Louis' speech with an eye roll. "If I give you the milk will you stop talking?"

Instead of speaking, Louis makes a zipping motion across his lips. She throws them another indifference glare before leaving them with an open door, and a large grey cat sat at their feet.

Louis nudges the taller with a grin so wide, Harry can't help but grin back. "That's how you do it, young Harold. Like candy from a baby."

"Or milk from a cow." Louis looks up at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter again.

"Exactly. Like milk from a cow."

So sure, Harry didn't expect the first date—or whatever this was to be considered—to just be sitting on the floor eating cereal, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Louis babbles on around mouthfuls of Coco Pops about whatever movie they're watching, telling him what'll happen right before said thing does happen, and stealing glances at the green eyed boy every so often.

Harry eventually switches it to a movie the boy hasn't seen, but kind of regrets it as Louis gets quiet so he can actually pay attention. Harry doesn't mind it though as it gives him an excuse to watch him.

He wishes he had his camera, because you see, Louis is like a force of nature in the simplest ways. Like a shooting star you'd miss if you blink, or that moment of peace when it's raining and you've driven beneath an underpass, and it'll all stops for a moment.

"Harold," Louis breathes suddenly. "You're staring." He was. How could he not?

"D-Do you mind if I—Can take your picture?"

Louis' not shaken at all, and if he was he's a fucking master at hiding it. He just shrugs. "What, now? Why? It's past your golden hour, or whatever you camera snobs call it."

"It's just," Harry begins, he gestures vaguely. Not really even looking at the boy's eyes anyway. Just studying him as a whole again. "The, um, candle light bouncing around the room, off the walls and all. The street lights too, pouring in from the windows. I wouldn't call the tv a great source of light, but I mean all of it? It's as good a golden hour as any."

"Well," Louis begins, he's looking at Harry now too with a little smile that's barely there. "Have at it, Leibovitz."

Harry scrambles to get his camera, and Louis bites a laugh into his palm. He tries his best to be natural, but once the idea of taking photos is introduced it's impossible to be absolutely candid.

Harry snaps some photos anyway, because Louis was beautiful candid or not. Louis ends up snatching the camera from him, and taking a few photos of his own.

They laugh, and it's such a gloriously delightful sound. Harry could live in it forever.

"Hey." Louis says, peeking from behind the camera. "I've got an idea."

Harry dips a hand into the nearly empty cereal box. "Oh joy. Whatcha got, Tomlinson?"

"Have you got sleeping bags?"

"No." Harry answers after a beat. "I'll have you know, contrary to popular belief, I'm not a nine year old Cub Scout who has camping equipment on tap."

"Funny!" The blue eyed boy throws a few loose Coco Pops at the latter, they settle in his hair. "I had no idea. You definitely gave off the whole knot-tying, fire-starting cub vibe."

Harry does a little bow in his seat. "Well, thank you."

"Dork. Come on, if you don't have sleeping bags a shit load of duvets will do." Harry complied, albeit wearily. He hears rattling, and scraping of chairs before he returns from the linen closet with dozens of fluffy duvets in tow.

He's met with a smiling Louis who's stood with the couch cushions, and throw pillows scattered around his dining area floor, and the dining chairs placed strategically so. He's got that half bottle of Merlot dangling from his fingers too.

"Are we building a fort?"

"We're building a fort. Maybe get a little tipsy in the process." Louis beams. "C'mon we need the blankets, Cub Scout." And they do. The fort lopsided and haphazard, and Harry takes this as an opportunity to get actual candid photos. That Louis doth protest at first, but eventually gives in.

"Hey, Haz?" Louis mutters taking a sip straight from the wine bottle once they're finally settled. The underlying buzz of the television still very prevalent in the background.

"Yeah?"

"This was fun. Is fun."

"Very eloquent, Tomlinson." Harry grins in the dark of the fort. The candle flames' reflection dances off the exterior of plush blankets. "This is fun."

"I think I'm in like with you, Leibovitz." Harry can feel the boy's gaze on his skin, it tingles in the best way possible.

"Well you're in luck, as I'm pretty fucking in like with you as well, uh, Banksy."

"Banksy?" Louis chuckles before passing the bottle over. "That the best you could come up with in the pretty little head of yours?"

"They're pretty good, you're pretty good. Just seemed like a good fit."

That let all the many words they spoke just sit in the air for a while, and wrap them in warmth. The silence was so eerily comfortable, it was scary. The good kind though.

And when they kiss, it's so unexpected and clumsy, filled with clashing teeth and carelessness and giggling. They don't even try to perfect it a second time. It's even sillier after the next one, and the one after that.

And well, for Harry, that would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unedited as I am lazy (:


End file.
